


Tomorrow

by Ryuki



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Gallows, Gen, Hanging Day For Julian, I've toyed with the idea of a protest on execution day, Mazelinka is here!, Might write a different one this one was roooough, Not Realistic Protest, omg there are so many characters and I am so tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuki/pseuds/Ryuki
Summary: It's execution day for the deadly roach, Dr. Julian Devorak. He stands at the gallows, drenched in dismal self-pity, realizing not even Xixa is there to support him. Nadia feels a quiet sense of triumph, finally seeing the murderer with a noose 'round his neck.However, she gets a surprise when the citizens of Vesuvia - the very ones she's striving to protect from the bloodthirsty Devorak - march to the square, chanting: Free Doctor Jules!





	Tomorrow

A thick cord of rope, pulled taut against his throat, scraped against Julian’s pale skin. Tight bindings criss-crossed his wrists behind his back, lacerating his flesh. Already, he could feel red welts rising, fading thanks to his curse, and rising again with every shift of the damned ropes. The thick knot pressed against the base of his skull, at the edge of his occipital bone. He breathed unevenly, shallowly, staring out at the audience. Courtiers and their families shifted impatiently, quietly giddy for the macabre spectacle. His stomach lurched, realizing there were children in the crowd.

Farther, on a lavishly decorated dais, seated on above the upper-crust and the elite, the Countess stared at him. Her cold red eyes stabbed against Julian’s heart. A tent of fabric shielded her from the sun. However, the day turned out to be overcast and grey, the scent of oncoming rain on the air. Dreary and dank, like his future.

Briefly, with a smarmy thought, Julian thought Nadia shielded herself behind rich tapestries from her own guilt, her own retribution from the heavens. Though, he was the one that sat beneath the bare sky, noose around his neck and life line slowly dwindling to an end. There’d be no tomorrow, no next week, no next year. Just today and then… nothing.

Beneath the curtained dais with her, a silver-haired magician sat at her right-hand side, a white snake coiled up their arm. _Asra_.

Julian’s eye quickly moved away, seeking another. Looking for dark teal hair and opalescent eyes. He didn’t expect to find Portia in the crowd – to think his little sister watching him do the Dead Man’s Jig was too much – but he thought Xixa would be there. Silently offering him support in his last moments. However, it seemed the apprentice didn’t find him worth the effort.

His heart floundered in his chest. So, this is how it would end. His gaze shifted to the boards beneath his feet, tracing the outline of the trap door. Once that door gave way, once the world flew out from under his feet, cheers would erupt from the crowd. A cold chill writhed its way through his stomach. No friendly face, no sobbing for his fate. Just smiles and laughter as he jostled at the end of the rope. How long would the curse allow him to struggle, gasping for breath? Or would the rope be kind, snapping his neck quickly and efficiently?

A chill sunk into his bones, resisting the urge to glance around for Xixa again. Oh, how utterly alone he was.

Unaware – not as if she’d care – of Julian’s inner swamp of loneliness, Nadia rose from her makeshift throne. The courtiers and elites hushed as she moved, watching her with eyes wide. Mentally, she could see some of the more vicious salivating at the thought of the upcoming spectacle. Despite her sense of victory, Countess Nadia found a tiny sliver of disgust with the proceeding. However, that roach had killed the Count – her husband – on the night of his birthday with merciless fire. He should be glad she didn’t choose to flay and quarter him, as punishment.

Even as she considered that thought, Countess Nadia knew she never would issue such a ruling. The very idea churned her stomach. No, hanging was much more civilized… At least, that’s what she tried to convince herself.

“Today, we finally put an end to Dr. Devorak’s reign of terror.” Nadia’s crisp voice rang out over the assemblage, echoing down the quiet streets. Her hand sliced through the air, as if illustrating the definite end. “He shall no longer stalk the streets of Vesuvia, threatening the good people with his miasma of death, his aura of-”

“Are you seriously talking about that man?” A grizzled cackle from Nadia’s left elbow broke her speech. The Countess started, spinning on her heel to stare at the spot the voice came. It seemed to sound from the very fabric. As attention turned to the spot on the curtain, though, a shrouded figure stepped forward. A second ago, everyone would have sworn that the shawl blended in perfectly with the curlicue pattern of the rich fabrics. But, upon closer inspection, the figure’s shawl wasn’t of a luxurious orange and pink, but a dusty blue.

At the interruption, Julian managed to bring his head up. Staring toward the Countess’s dais, the man could hardly believe his eye. Was that figure truly… “Mazelinka?”

Nadia glared down her nose at the woman, bewildered at the sudden interference of her longtime triumph. The woman didn’t appear to be a threat, though guards were scrambling toward the stairs of her dais. Nadia raised a hand to her protectors. There was no need to hassle an old woman. “ _Who_ are you?”

“That doesn’t matter. _Listen_ ,” Mazelinka, unperturbed by the bristling guards, pointed to the sky. A hum buzzed on the wind, faint and far, yet coming from all around Vesuvia. Nadia’s eyes widened, deciphering the words a moment before they became clearer.

“ _Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!_ ” The words echoed on the breeze, becoming louder with each passing moment. In the distance, a raven cawed in time to the beat.

For once, Nadia and Julian shared a look – across the gallows’ audience – of utter bewilderment. She looked to him, imagining a smug smirk on his roachy lips. He thought he’d find a calm complacency on the woman’s features. Instead, their wide eyes met over the people, and their hearts jolted with shock. What in the world was going on?

“The reason your guards had problems hunting down this lad isn’t due to his criminal ingenuity,” Mazelinka sucked at her teeth, a wry smirk curling at her lips at the thought. Her grin only broadened as Nadia returned her gaze toward the old woman. “The boy trips over his own feet trying to make an impression, dear.

“ _We_ hid him.” Mazelinka pointed to herself then motioned out toward the city. The demands for freedom echoed off the buildings, ricocheting around the gallows and audience. Nadia’s eyes widened, slow comprehension dawning in her mind as Mazelinka continued, “ _We_ bungled your guards’ investigations. _We_ cared for him when he’d deny himself that luxury.”

Julian, caught up in the surreal unfoldings, started at the touch of cold fingertips fluttered across his neck. The weight of the abrasive noose lifted. He turned, finding opalescent eyes and a smile.

“I’m here,” Xixa whispered as the tears flooded his eyes. Her fingers felt like a salve on his flesh and her presence a sheer blessing. His heart sang, unable to believe the sight. Perhaps he had already hanged and this was merely a dead man’s dream.

Whatever this was, he couldn’t stop himself. Julian threw himself at her, sobs bubbling up from deep in his chest as he buried his face against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her warmth kissed his cold body. Relief burst through his confusion. No matter what happened, _Xixa was here_. The woman cooed softly, rubbing his back with one hand as her other went to fumble with the ropes at his wrists. Her stomach reeled slightly, finding blood-slick ropes, but she had a job.

“We, _the citizens of Vesuvia_ , do not fear Doctor Ilya Devorak.” By this time, a great many bodies were flooding the city streets. Mazelinka had managed to get close enough to Nadia for the Countess to see the hard gleam of ferocity in the old woman’s eye: “And that begs the question: Why do _you_ fear him, Countess?”

“ _Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!_ ” The mantra echoed around the square, punctuated by the raven. The courtiers and upper-class held their breath, eyes wide, drinking in the sheer drama of it all. Some glanced at each other nervously, recognizing their vulnerable position as more and more people surrounded the square. Revolutions didn’t end well for the upper-crust.

A wave of dizzying shock and uncertainty crashed over Nadia. What in the world was happening? Had these people truly _protected_ her husband’s murderer? She raised a hand to her temple as her red gaze flickered over the growing sea of people. They ranged from young to old; skinny to portly; sickly to healthy. Lowly peasants, with more grime on them than clothes, to middle-class merchants.

The gleam of palace gilt caught Nadia’s attention; even some guards and servants?! Nadia’s heart thrummed, painfully, as her gaze snagged on a redheaded handmaiden. Shaking the sickly recognition away, the Countess turned her gaze elsewhere.

Her eyes skimmed across the square, onto Devorak, and her blood went cold.

The apprentice held the accused in her arms! The man hunched over, shaking – was he _crying_? - as Xixa managed to slide the restraints from his wrists. He didn’t pull away, didn’t make a break for freedom. Instead, his arms looped around the woman, crushing her close, breathing in her scent. Xixa buried her head against him, one hand sifting through his hair and the other on his shoulder.

As if feeling Nadia’s gaze, Xixa pulled away far enough to turn her eyes toward the Countess. A fearless look in her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. The woman didn’t look as if she had slept all night, though it didn’t seem she had been sobbing into her pillow, either. Nadia grasped tightly at her shawl, the silky fabric kissing her fingertips. Was Xixa part of this? Was she _responsible_ for this? A flush of anger mingled with confusion, Nadia’s brain trying to solve this sudden puzzle.

“Nadia.” From her right, someone’s soft voice soothed. She turned flashing red eyes toward Asra. Was he, too, going to betray her? He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, worry gleaming in his violet eyes. “The people have spoken.”

The Countess remained tight-lipped and wide-eyed. She stared down at the magician, brain scrabbling to make sense of this. Did everyone simply pretend to assist her? Were they all laughing at her, behind her back? Oh, the foolish Countess! Nadia clenched her fists, the flash of rage arching across her cheeks and landing in her chest.

“Lucio was not a kind man. He overtaxed the lower-classes, terrified the servants, and mutilated anyone who stood up to him.” Asra swallowed, giving Nadia’s shoulder a squeeze. Faintly, her rage subsided as the magician recounted memories she had lost. He glanced across the audience, toward Julian. The doctor seemed to be an intense conversation with Xixa, both making harsh and abrupt motions with their hands. Nadia followed his gaze toward the doctor, her attention briefly caught by his eye patch. _Mutilation_ echoed in her brain. Asra murmured, pain laced in his words, “Where did that leave these people?”

Nadia fell silent, her mind mulling over the refreshed details. Around her, the chant ‘ _Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!_ ’ continued, though it had become a background hum with raised fists, clapping hands, and stomping feet.

“The whole city of Vesuvia is chanting for your release,” Xixa’s screech cut through the turmoil, “ _And you’re not going to escape!?_ ”

The apprentice had pushed Julian to arm’s length, her opalescent eyes fiery with annoyance and frustration. Only this man – _this man –_ would not take the opportunity the very community gave him. She wanted to scream. Again.

When the sudden silence filtered into Xixa’s ears, she looked around, face going red. So many eyes turned toward her. From poor beggars to the richest of courtiers, _everyone_ turned their attention to the apprentice.

“I told you to be careful with screaming.” Julian softly chuckled, somehow finding humor in such a setting. Though, the amusement didn’t quite reach his sad gaze. “Now everyone’s heard you.”

“Oh, don’t you _fucking_ start, Julian.” Tears pricked at Xixa’s eyes, threatening to down her cheeks. It was too late to convince the doctor to run. The protest had been silenced – even if it wasn’t intentional – and now all eyes were on them. Julian couldn’t sneak away, now.

The man pressed a gentle kiss to Xixa’s lips, before pulling completely away. Her sniffles sliced through his heart, but his feet guided him down the stairs of the gallows. The crowd parted before him, fright emanating from the courtiers and nobles. Oh, the touch of a plague doctor, a murderer! He could imagine the things they thought…

Then, beyond the rich, were the regular people. The poor and downtrodden, those who struggled to get by, then the merchants – who hovered between poor and rich. So many had filled the streets, so many chanting his name, demanding his freedom. A warmth swelled in Julian’s chest.

“I don’t know if I killed your husband, Countess.” His grey eye locked on the Countess. She watched him coming. A small contingent of loyal guards lined her viewing stage from the crowd, swords unsheathed as the doctor came closer. He stopped three feet from the guards, ignoring the gleam of swords as he continued to speak, “If my life for his will soothe your pain, I’ll accept that. What I won’t accept are these people giving their lives for mine.”

Julian motioned out toward the crowd. Toward the peasants, the beggars, the cityfolk, the shoppe owners. If he ran, Nadia could punish these people. Devorak sympathizers could be tortured or put to death, in his place. Though, the Countess didn’t seem like the sort, being denied a long-time victory could warp many a mind. He couldn’t swallow the thought of so many people giving up so much for him. He wasn’t worth it. Didn’t they see that?

“ _Damn foolish, boy_!” Mazelinka hissed, fists at her sides as her fiery gaze turned to him.

The Countess stared down at him, eyes narrowed. Was this a ploy? Or genuine? But what fool would stand before a line of guards if he intended to flee?

“I’m inclined to agree with this woman.” Nadia finally announced, eyebrows lowering. Her hand arched out toward the crowd, motioning to the writhing, silent mass. “These people didn’t come together by predetermined destiny, Devorak. Someone had to rouse them, someone had to convince them, someone had to make them aware. That… endeavor took time. Someone lost sleep over this shenanigan.”

The realization struck Julian. Someone had lost sleep over him to organize this protest. It should have been obvious, of course, but he could miss the obvious. His gaze flickered toward Mazelinka, who crossed her arms and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Julian’s gaze flickered back toward Xixa, shocked to find her at his elbow.

Shrouded in silence, arms crossed, she didn’t turn to meet his gaze. It didn’t matter. The bags under her teary eyes were evidence of more than one sleepless night, recently. Guilt clawed at his guts. How could he have overlooked that? How long had she stayed up, concocting this plan? Getting people to agree? Finding people to fight for him?

“And you aren’t even going to give them the honor of seeing you run off, to live another day?” Nadia’s voice bordered on revulsion. What kind of self-serving murderer was this roach, Devorak?

Julian turned away from Xixa, hanging his head. His eye concentrated on the ground, the dirt, where he belonged. He felt weak. His knees gave out under him, lowering himself to the dust. He closed his eye, croaking out, “You’re right, Countess. I don’t deserve their good graces.”

“Ilya,” Asra quietly snarled, voice a mixture of annoyance and disgust. How much could one man shrug off _this much_ providence?

Nadia raised her hand to the magician, cutting off any other harsh words he had for the doctor. Asra tossed the woman a curious look. The Countess’s red eyes didn’t break from Julian’s bow-headed form, though. Calculations and judgment ticked away behind her gaze. Her line of guards silently waited, grasping their weapons, for their lady’s final decree.

“My husband was not kind. Compassion was not a mercy he gave.” Nadia’s voice sounded across the square, strong and vibrant. Her lips pressed together, faint memories – translucent and watered down – and feelings rising to the surface. “He _thought_ he was fair, at least. An eye for an eye.” She paused, briefly, as Julian twitched. Apparently, the saying struck a cord with him. “If I take your life to avenge my husband’s, what does that make me?”

The doctor remained silent, hands weakly folded in his laps. He barely heard the Countess. He simply waited for his fate. He didn’t deserve mercy and he doubted he’d receive it.

Nadia continued to stare at the redheaded doctor. Lips pressed together as she considered the man. He looked pathetic, kneeling in the dust, bent double. Waiting for death. What _ever_ did the apprentice – did Vesuvia – see in this man? However, could she send him to the gallows for being pathetic? That was something Lucio would do… and that thought made a sickness clench at her chest.

“It… It makes me wrong. It makes me no better than the late Count.” Nadia’s volume increased, her voice ringing out over the accumulated bodies. Her gaze tore away from the doctor, piercing the poor with her livid red gaze. With a grand, sweeping gesture, she indicated the people surrounding the gallows and the audience, her scarf flying out like a wing. “I see the lifeblood of Vesuvia in this square. Pumping and beating and willing to spill for your safety, doctor.”

The Countess fell silent, hazarding a glance toward Asra. The magician watched her, attention rapt. Her gaze flicked to Xixa, the woman’s opalescent eyes dull, yet hopeful. Then, finally, Nadia returned to Julian’s bowed head. She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing around her words. “I will give the people what they want.”

Xixa’s eyes widened, hand pressed over her lips, her gaze flickering to Julian. He didn’t move. Confusion rippled through the crowd, uncertain of Nadia’s meaning. They were too used to double-talking politicians to take her words at face value.

“ _We_ want blood!” A courtier shot out of their seat, shrieking.

“It will not be the doctor’s blood that is spilled,” threatened the Countess, whipping her red gaze to the courtier. She was tired and exhausted from the strain of the day. Her eyes widened with anger, pinning the courtier with rage. “I’m sure the citizens of Vesuvia have suggestions. Wish to try them?”

The courtier visibly gulped, shaking their head and returning to their seat, a bit more stiffly than before.

Annoyed, Nadia added with a bite, “You’re free, Julian Devorak.”

That seemed to jostle the man from his continual melancholia. The man turned a wide, grey-eyed stare toward the Countess, mouth agape. The blunt words sunk into the crowd at the edges, cheering and singing began from the corners of the citizenry. Malak screamed triumphantly. Julian swung his gaze toward Xixa as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

He barely had a chance to brace himself as the woman fell into him, head lolling against his chest. Julian yelped, grasping the woman by her shoulders as he peered down at her. Worry teetered into his voice, “Xixa?”

“Child’s dead tired. She was running all over the city with your sister, last night. Stirring people up, putting boots up drunkards’ asses.” Mazelinka seemed to appear out of nowhere. The last of the loyal guard regiment were dispersing, following their beloved Countess and her magician back to the palace. The old woman peered over Julian’s shoulder, watching Xixa. “This wasn’t her only sleepless night, you know.”

“She hadn’t come to visit me the last couple nights.” Julian sighed, his fingers rubbing absently into her shoulders. Tears welled up in his eyes. Residual despair, guilt, newfound happiness, inability to accept Nadia’s ruling. There were so many reasons – both sad and happy – to cry.

“Mmm, people do crazy things when sleep-deprived,” Mazelinka sighed and gave a nod. “And in love. Well, congratulations, Ilya.”

Julian nodded absently, eye drawn to Xixa as he caressed her cheek.

“Wait, _what?_ ” Mazelinka’s words finally sunk into his brain. His gaze flashed toward her retreating back, his brain a hurricane of thoughts and emotions. His breath came out in a haggard gasp, excitement licking up his throat. “What has Xixa told you? _Mazelinka_!”

He moved to go after the woman, before Xixa’s weight on him gave him pause. Julian forced himself to ease, settling back on his heels again.

“Juli…lya... shhhh,” slurred Xixa, shifting against Julian, bringing his gaze gack to her. His heart stopped, heat racing up his spine as the woman inadvertently combined his names. His ears burned, embarrassed by how much her voice weaving around those syllables affected him. Heart thundering, spine-tingling, skin prickling reactions at merely mashed up syllables. Xixa’s hand shifted against his sides, grabbing at the dirty fabric of his shirt. She sighed, nuzzling her face against his chest, her breathing returning to its deep, even, sleepy pace.

She wasn’t able to keep her eyes closed long, though. The sounds of song and cheering increased, the crowd of citizens pressing closer as courtiers and guards made their exit. Xixa cracked an eye open as people clapped Julian on his shoulder, delivering equal parts congratulations for his freedom and derision for his prior surrender. She sighed, pushing back from Julian’s chest as the words fell onto his ears. “Congratulations! Not many can walk away from the gallows!”

“We marched all th’ way here, ‘nd you were still gunna give yerself up, y’turd!” Someone clipped Julian’s ear, playfully, before ruffling his hair and moving on.

“That’s Ilya for you, idn’t it,” cackled a woman.

A thick-armed man, smelling of ale and alcohol, gave a hearty laugh as he clapped both hands on Julian’s shoulders. “I’m going to charge you twice as much for the trouble, boy!”

Julian flushed under all the attention, allowing himself to be rocked to and fro by the jostling touches. He mumbled gratitudes and flashed charismatic smiles at the people. Shock settled over his shocks, numbing the sheer impossibility of it all. These were the faces of past patients, shopowners, bartenders, barflies, market goers, beggars… he didn’t know how he touched all their lives, but apparently he had, in some way. At least, enough for them to be bothered to request his freedom.

There was a sudden silence, a parting in the crowd, a wave of whispers as someone shoved their way through the throngs. Xixa’s eyes drew to the cleave in the crowd, an understanding passing her features as she got to her feet. Julian’s brow creased, following her lead. Before he could ask Xixa what was wrong, his little sister barreled through the people.

“Ilya!” As she broke through, her gaze fell on him. Large tears welled up in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks as she rushed to him. Using her inertia, the young woman shoved at her brother, anger and relief mixing in her voice as she cried. “You _damn_ idiot. We got all these people together and you still wanted to get yourself killed!”

“Pasha…” Julian’s voice came out strained, tears blotting at the corners of his eyes. Portia’s arms came around his middle, hugging him tightly as she cried and berated him against his chest. He couldn’t stop himself as tears streamed out his eyes. His arms came around his sister, holding her close. Julian didn’t think he’d ever get a chance to hug his little sister, ever again. The realization broke through his thoughts that this was just one of many more hugs, many more laughs, many more memories he could have. If he did things right.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a sister like you,” he sobbed, shaking his head as he looked up, over the surrounding crowd. Something warm – a previously forgotten sense of community? – swelled in his chest as he met so many eyes, so many smiles and grins. “Or all this support. I’m not going to throw it away.”

“You better not!” Someone hooted, further away. A chorus a laughter and claps echoed around the square.

“You better take care of yourself, boy!” Mazelinka’s familiar voice popped out of the crowd, loud and obstinate. More laughter and agreeing jeers met with her demand.

Portia swiped her tears away with the palm of her hand as she pushed herself away from her brother. She fixed him with a hard look, lips twisted into a serious frown. “You forgot Xixa. What in the world did you do to deserve Xixa?”

“I don’t know if I deserve her, to be honest.” He glanced over to the aforementioned woman, who had taken a few steps back from the siblings, giving them space.

Xixa’s tired eyes drew up to his face, slowly. Julian shifted under her stare, his ears inexplicably going hot. The woman finally moved toward the doctor, reaching a hand up to stroke his jawline gently. The heat from his ears crossed across his face, leaving a red blush in its wake. Eyes hooded and voice ragged from exhaustion, Xixa smiled softly, “I’m not going to tell what you deserve, Julian, in polite company.”

His heart thrummed. Oh, yes, what _did_ he deserve? Delight and excitement licked over his bones, realizing their time was unlimited and without the threat of guards ruining their fun. His breath hitched, just slightly, at the thought. A sudden burst of energy flared through him.

From the throng of people, someone crowed, “ _Wh_ _o’s_ _the wanker that_ _told ya’_ _we’re polite?_ ”

“Still too polite for that conversation,” Xixa retorted, loud enough for nearer people to hear. Her eyes never left Julian’s face as laughter rippled through the crowd. He bit his bottom lip, finding a heat in her gaze – beneath her exhaustion – that promised something sensual and painfully pleasurable. Perhaps, after a well-deserved nap.

The doctor couldn’t help himself. He arched down, catching the woman in a kiss. Her arms curled around his neck, a soft breathy whimper against his lips. Electricity danced over Julian’s body, the scent of her surrounding him. Heat and joy blossomed in his chest as his hands traced her sides, wracking a small shiver from her body. Xixa sunk her teeth into his bottom lip, almost – _almost –_ provoking a groan of delight from him, in front of such a large crowd.

“If you all will excuse us,” Julian announced once he surfaced, forcing to make himself heard over the whoops and jeers. He swept the woman into arms, cradling her bridal-style to his chest. Xixa squeaked, but settled against his chest, her hands pressing to chest. Feeling her in his arms, a subtle satisfaction coiled into Julian’s core. A broad smirk curled at his lips as he waggled his eyebrows at the hooting crowd. “Xixa and I have much to… ah… _discuss_.”

As he maneuvered through the crowd – congratulations and compliments lapping against him – Julian could feel excitement bubbling up in him. Excitement for tonight, for tomorrow, for next month, _next year._ When was the last time he held such anticipation for the future? He glanced down at Xixa, cuddled against his chest, eyelids fluttering against sleep. The doctor gave her a slight squeeze. When she tilted her head back, deigning him with a look and a sleepy smile. “Mmn?”

“Rest, my dear,” Julian murmured, feeling Xixa’s body relax a little further against him. Involuntary, elated tears pooled in the corners of his eye, voice cracking a little, as he added, “We have plenty of time.”


End file.
